


Don't Mess with Mama

by Lady_Cleo



Category: Major Crimes (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Zoo Story, a mother's love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 06:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2260116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/Lady_Cleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>my thoughts on Rusty being caught in the middle of two Sharons during "Zoo Story"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Mess with Mama

There were two Sharons. One was in a box, wearing blue. The other was in a box, wearing white. One had the special and forever love of a little boy named Rusty. The other loved him so fiercely it hurt. And sadly, these facts were not attributed to the right women, or at least applicable to both.

Sharon, his mother, a blonde currently wearing blue in a box for doing bad things, had had her little boy’s love since the moment he took his first breaths. He had hidden bruises for her, and been frightened out of his wits as he watched her nearly die, and been kicked aside by the men she took to bed to feed her habits. He had stolen and lied and covered and done bad things to take care of her. And when she’d taken off with no word or warning, he’d done more bad things to take care of himself. He’d been alone and scared and clinging to the love he had for his mom like a security blanket in the dark nights and the dark days… until a new Sharon had come into his life.

This Sharon had kids of her own, but she hardly ever saw them. This Sharon had an apartment that felt more like a home than anywhere else. This Sharon had hair like rich coffee, and eyes of a soft jade, and she smelled like tea and hand cream and manila folders… and love. There were days she carried traces of kevlar, or blood, or cordite, or just the tangy afterscent of stress and sadness, but she always smelled like love.

And Rusty did care for this other Sharon, this new Sharon, in a special way. He even loved her too. But the special and forever love that his mother owned? No, he couldn’t seem to give that to Sharon. Even though she’d never asked for it. Even though he knew it hurt her to be put in the middle, or cast aside in favor of his mom. Even though, if he were really honest, she deserved it more than his mom.

The day Rusty sat on a stool in a steel and concrete room, separated from his mom by so much more than glass, when she’d asked about that “work he used to do on the side” he couldn’t help but think that Sharon would never ask him something like that. Would never expect it, or get herself into a situation like this.

He couldn’t even picture her on the other side of glass like this- unless she was the one visiting him. And even _that_ vision was too hard to make focus, because his life with that Sharon was so far from any path that could put him here. But even then he knew, beyond a doubt, that she would be there for him and do whatever she could to get him back out, home and safe again.

He hadn’t wanted her to know about his visit to his mom; he hadn’t even wanted a favor from anyone on the squad about the situation. But he’d needed to know, so he’d asked Provenza for the facts, and boy had he gotten them. He wouldn’t even take the file, like just touching the paper folder might burn. Instead he’d squared his shoulders and decided every last word he’d say to his mom when he saw her again on Monday.

* * *

 

Sharon Raydor was a force to be reckoned with. She was a quietly unstoppable force of nature who changed things where she worked- and usually for the better. She worked out in front, shielding those behind and leading them safely. She worked behind the scenes, orchestrating and directing things to a satisfactory outcome for as many people as possible. And she loved fiercely, like a mama bear, like a lioness- and heaven help the person who hurt her cubs. Her family was an odd patchwork of friends and coworkers and distant children and occasional love interests and one very special boy.

She hated seeing him in pain, and it galled her to the core that the people who seemed the best at achieving that were his parents. That sperm donor she’d been forced to let into his life had nearly undone some of the hard work Rusty had done, knocked him back from how far he’d managed to come. She needn’t have really worried; Rusty had been hurt, but like the ticklish, nearly phantom pain of scar tissue- too long healed and ignored to really do damage.

His mother, on the other hand, was the hurricane- capable of blowing in without warning and leaving a swath of incalculable destruction in her wake. She was a pressure point to be squeezed, a weapon to be used against him; he’d put his own life and the lives of several officers in jeopardy by disregarding orders just because someone threatened to harm her. It had been a member of their team, and Sharon had known about the test (against it though she’d been), but it had still hurt to learn that her hopes were a bit misplaced, that Rusty would still fly off the handle and do something dangerous on his mother’s behalf.

Even so, she had never tried to encourage an ‘alienation of affections’ as some foster parents did; she was willing to let Rusty keep trying to have a relationship with his mom, and willing to keep trying to facilitate as healthy and beneficial a relationship between them as possible. (It hurt like someone dumping razors and glass shards into her heart and shaking like a snowglobe, but she still did it.) And part of her would’ve been happy if his mother ever did put her son first and love him back the way he deserved ( _the way she_... but no, it was about Rusty) if only because Sharon knew how much it would mean to him if his mom did.

But she hated seeing him hurt. And she hated that he still kept it from her, when it had to do with his mother. And as she stood in that box, wearing white, surrounded by members of her odd little family (who all cared for Rusty like their own, be it brother or son or nephew or just friend) she had seen the pain on her son’s face when his mother had asked him about “that work he used to do on the side” to see if he would do it for her.

Her gut twisted as she thought of Rusty going out and doing it, not knowing it would’ve been useless and pointless to do so, to torture himself unnecessarily. She thanked God he had sought out Provenza’s counsel before rushing into action; she owed them both big time.

And she felt her nails dig through the linen of her jacket and her face grow tight and warm, and her eyes flashed with a brilliant and deadly light as she let a few scenarios flit through her mind that would ensure the permanent removal of this other Sharon from Rusty’s life. Then she took a deep breath and released it, allowing homicidal rage to flow out of her, unexacted. She knew what she had to do.

That evening, when Sharon Beck sat down, wearing blue, she spotted a flash of white before Sharon Raydor sat opposite her. She let relief flood through her and a smile touch her face as she thought about what this meant. In the back of her mind was a little flash about what a good boy Rusty was, coming through for her, but it was quickly swallowed.

Then Sharon began to speak. And with each sentence, the other Sharon’s face fell. She wasn’t getting out, she wasn’t going back to rehab, she had to stay sober for 364 days and she had to stay in County? No. This wasn’t a deal. This wasn’t the deal she’d wanted. It didn’t occur to her that Sharon could’ve had her shivved in the showers, or simply let her OD, or gotten her transferred upstate so fast it would’ve made her head swim. It didn’t occur to her that Sharon was doing this so she would be sober, and close, so Rusty could see her… and see her sober.

And when Sharon realized that this other Sharon didn’t understand that, she didn’t bother to clarify it. She had other points to nail home, like the means by which she intended to keep her on the straight and narrow- and the consequences of the smallest step off it, to the left or the right.

When the Sharon in blue bitterly spat out that she didn’t she didn’t deserve the treatment she was receiving, the other Sharon was quick to agree. When she commented that anything further she could do to the woman in the box would require a trial, she didn’t specify **what** the trial would be for, or which of them would be the defendant. Whichever part of the implicit threat got through to the other woman was enough, because not nearly enough of anything made it through her peculiarly thick skull- as evidenced by the next words out of her mouth.

Stabbing an accusatory finger at the brunette handing down her fate, she admitted that she knew Sharon was mad at her, but she didn’t know why. A tiny thread of pity hit Sharon as she let her voice soften to express that that was the problem. It never seemed to occur to this woman before her the havoc she was capable of wreaking on the life of her son. The way he kept offering up his heart in those little boy hands, only to have it broken and stepped on and swept aside for her own thoughtless selfishness. The fact that while she knew her son loved her (something she couldn’t help but exploit when it suited her) she couldn’t seem to love him back or live up to the mom he wanted and so desperately deserved. Sharon tried to be that for him, even succeeding some days, but she understood his hurt firsthand, because he still would choose his mother over her.

When the blonde had swallowed down whatever invective Sharon could see in her eyes and instead plaintively asked about her “little boy” in a wide-eyed way that no doubt usually worked on her son, Sharon’s grip on the phone had tightened. For the sparest of instants, she forgot the guards and the barriers between them and considered wrapping the phone cord around the other woman’s neck- or using the far more effective weapon of her words to break her down to little pieces that could no longer do any harm to anyone. But she didn’t.

Because she **was** doing this for Rusty’s sake, for his happiness even at the expense of her own. Because that’s what mothers do- the very best they can for their kids. And the stark constrasts between them were clarified in that instant, because only one Sharon sitting in that room seemed to grasp it. And sadly it was not the one who needed to.

The way the other woman could turn on a dime was quite something to behold, impressive if only it wasn’t so sickening. “You think you can have me boxed up and out of the way?” She snapped, her face hard and angry, with a bitter gleeful edge as she finished, “Lady let me tell you something- you just made a really big mistake.” The look in her eyes made it clear that Rusty’s next visit would be part soap opera performance, as his mother would spin and twist the actions of his mama bear into some hurtful conspiracy to keep them apart, to keep her away. Sharon knew Rusty was smart enough to grasp the truth; she only hoped he would let himself see it, though she dreaded the pain such a realization would cause.

And it was this that made Sharon’s voice calm and her smile steady as she pointed out that the woman opposite her (in so many ways) was the one wearing the jumpsuit, and surrounded by guards, while she got up to go home. The “to my son” was implied. The minor outrage behind her didn’t even make her turn around. She walked out, one foot in front of the other, confident and calm without ever looking back.

**Author's Note:**

> wasn't sure who my heart broke for more: Rusty or the Captain. so I wrote this. hope you like it. comments are appreciated.


End file.
